Things We Do for Money
by Callea
Summary: Jeff begrudgingly agrees to go to a strip club with his former coworkers where a familiar-looking waitress catches his attention. Jeff/Annie
1. Chapter 1

Pairing/Charcters: Jeff/Annie, Abed, Troy, Britta, Shirley, Pierce  
Rating: R for sexual situations  
Spoilers: Reference to 2.10 Mixology Certification  
Notes: A combination and slight variation of two LJ milady_milord Ficcy Friday prompts from  
crazyqa215 and ravenecho

* * *

"You're going to church?"

Jeff halts, and his shoulders stiffen at the sound of Abed's voice. He glances to his side and wonders how long the young man has been next to him. More importantly, he wonders, how had Abed managed to divine the contents of the newly opened text message? Jeff dismisses his initial suspicions and decides to attribute the feat to Abed's stealth and agility rather than the absurd concept that his friend is omniscient.

Jeff smiles. "Hello, Abed." Continuing his trek across the Greendale campus, Jeff stresses his next words, hoping to illustrate the awkwardness of the other man's greeting. "I'm fine. How are you today?"

"Hm." Abed keeps in step. "I hadn't thought about it, but now that you ask, I do seem to be a bit more solitary since Troy started trying to date that red head."

"He has been putting way too much effort into that," Jeff agrees.

Abed tilts his head and repeats his original question as if he'd never changed the subject. "So why are you going to church?"

Jeff's forehead wrinkles. "Abed, have we not explained yet that it's rude to read texts over people's shoulders?"

"No, you have. But when I don't, I miss out on a lot of juicy character insights."

Jeff sighs as he slips his phone into his jeans. "That's kind of the point." Abed looks puzzled, and Jeff decides it's not worth the effort to explain further. "Nevermind."

"Like this," Abed continues. "This religious character arc came way out of left field, unless..." A look of alarm flashes over Abed's face. "Did I miss an episode?" His face relaxes. "Or is this a fan fic with really bad characterization?"

Jeff shakes his head. "No, you didn't miss anything, and this isn't whatever you said. I'm not going to church. I'm going to The Church."

"Ah." Abed nods, but after processing Jeff's full statement, he asks, "What's the difference?"

"The Church is a strip club."

"Oh, irony." They walk in silence for a moment before Abed asks, "Can I come?"

Jeff frowns. "Trust me. You don't want to."

"Why not? Aren't strip clubs a fundamental male bonding ritual."

"They are," he pauses, "if you're eighteen." Jeff smiles at a blonde walking past before he continues, "After that, the only men who like strip clubs are the ones who can't get women naked for free. When you look like this," he gestures toward his face, "you don't need strippers. And you don't look forward to being in a building full of women who are paid to get you excited with zero follow through."

Abed nods. "Then why are you going?"

"A guy from my old firm just finalized his divorce. Alan arranged a..." Jeff groans, "celebration."

"I thought we hate Alan."

"Not hate." Jeff feels his phone vibrate and retrieves it from his pocket as he explains, "I don't hate my alarm clock for blaring in my ear every morning. It's just doing what alarm clocks do. Alan is a weasely, two-faced attorney who's just doing what weasels do. So we dislike and distrust him..." Jeff glances at his new text message then finishes, "except when liking him benefits me."

"Benefit how?"

A few yards ahead, Jeff watches two hacky sack players simultaneously attempt a jump kick. His lips curve upward as he watches them collide and topple to the ground. Their misfortune helps Jeff feel a bit less like a loser as he tells Abed, "It probably hasn't escaped your notice that I don't have a job."

Abed responds in his matter of fact tone, "Nope, that's pretty obvious."

"Yeah, well." Jeff stifles a pang of irritation. "What I do have is a continually shrinking savings account. Luckily or - depending on how you look at it - unluckily for me, Alan has a case I can consult on. Win or lose, I get paid my generous, yet well-deserved hourly rate. If Alan wins, I get a bonus big enough to cover the rent on my shitty apartment for a full year." Jeff dodges an over zealous hacky sacker who back-peddles onto the sidewalk for a save.

"But since every cloud has a lead lining that drags it to the ground and turns it into mud...," Jeff's voice grows tense as he stuffs his phone into his pocket. "And because a cloud can't just have a single untarnished thing in life, Alan had this condition, a condition to which I agreed, because sucking it up and smiling for just one night is a small sacrifice if it means I never resort to the alternative shame of becoming a middle-aged man who bags groceries." Abed opens his mouth, but Jeff stops him with a raised hand, "If you're about to reference any movie involving a prostitute, don't."

Abed closes his mouth and nods. "Why don't you just blackmail him? Use the email we found, and tell him you'll expose him as a dirty rat if he doesn't give you the job."

Jeff allows himself a fragment of a laugh, "That would be a waste of a very powerful piece of ammunition."

Abed's eyes show understanding. "I get it. You're saving it for a sequel." He continues a few steps before adding, "I know we already covered conspiracy thrillers, but if you involve the FBI and throw in a Gene Hackman character, it might work as a trilogy."

As Jeff pulls open the library door, he sees to the matter of ensuring he doesn't receive a lecture - or worse - about his planned activities. "Just don't tell Shirley," he insists.

Abed stops and analyzes the request. "Given her religious beliefs and history with strippers..." He nods. "Of course."

"Or Annie," Jeff adds as Abed rushes into he building and makes a bee-line for the study room.

* * *

Jeff stands in the lobby of the The Church, a sophisticated establishment if its stained glass windows are any indication. Staring at the colored glass, he wonders if the owners had to custom order it with silhouettes of women bending over, or if stained glass stores keep them regularly stocked between the St. Peter and Virgin Mary variety.

Alan approaches the hostess podium and requests a bottle of Glenlivet, a bottle of Jager, and a private booth. As Alan reaches for his wallet to open the tab, Lew demands he be allowed to pay for his own divorce party, which prompts each of the remaining lawyers to make their own request to cover the bill. With no intention of actually paying, Jeff joins in the show of male bravado. After several minutes, Alan "wins" the dispute by pointing out that, as the firm's newest partner, he's the highest paid and can most easily afford the cost.

A blond server introduces herself as Mindy, and Jeff instinctively gives her a once-over as she requests the expensively dressed group follow her into the main room. She's not exactly gorgeous, but she's unfortunately attempted to make up for it via extreme surgical enhancement. Nick and Lew can barely contain their tongues as they stare at her obscenely large breasts, but Jeff has a hard time piquing his interest when he can't stop imaging her on the arm of a douche bag in a skull t-shirt with Affliction scrawled across the front.

The distinct smells of cigar smoke, perfume, and sweat sting Jeff's nostrils as he passes through the curtain and enters the dimly lit, velvet upholstered lounge. Bass notes and flashing multicolored lights blast Jeff's ears and eyes as he watches a topless woman complete an agile spin down a pole.

To secure an outer seat in the booth, Jeff lags toward the rear of the group. He observes Nick, aka Flash, slinging an arm over Lew's shoulders and guiding him in Mindy's direction as he asks her to give the poor, recently divorced man some extra attention. Jeff watches the server politely laugh and promise to see what she can do. From the way she side steps and redirects the conversation as Lew inches too close, Jeff figures Mindy isn't new to the job.

A blur passes to Jeff's right. He first notices the tray of drinks pass under his line of site. Then he sees the tray is carried by a petite brunette who balances it on her left shoulder as she strides briskly ahead. He watches her make her way to the other side of the room, and his focus drifts to her gold hot pants. His eyes dart back to Mindy, and he finds himself even more disappointed with their server. If he has to be stuck with Alan, watching the brunette come and go would have at least added a glimmer of enjoyment to what promises to be an otherwise abysmal night.

"Woah!" Jeff exclaims as he runs into a stocky, middle-aged wall. "Sorry," he apologizes to Pete as he steps away from his former co-worker.

"No problem," the older man responds. He shrugs and nods toward the stage. "It's easy to get distracted by the scenery."

Decent guy. Terrible sense of humor. Jeff forces a laugh and watches the others file around the knee-high table before he claims his own seat. A cart arrives, and Mindy transfers three bottles of alcohol, two stacks of glasses, a bucket of ice, and a few decanters of fruit juice to their table.

Alan and Nick each lift a bottle. Nick pours five shots of Jager. Alan pours five glasses of scotch with no ice. As Nick hands out the Jager and exchanges a high five with Alan, Jeff realizes this new guy, whom he hasn't met until today, is quite possibly a younger, taller, more hair-endowed version of Jeff's balding frenemy.

Once all the shots are passed around, Alan raises his glass and begins a count down from three. Jeff tries unsuccessfully not to inhale the cough syrupy scent as he lifts the Jager to his lips and downs the dark liquid. He hides a shutter as the licorice flavor lingers on his tongue. Plopping the glass on the table, he swears to himself that he won't repeat that experience tonight.

Nick's shot is already drained, and he's in the midst of retrieving the bottle to pour another round when the remaining three glasses strike the table. Pete coughs and receives a smack on the shoulder from Alan. Pete isn't a regular drinker, but he makes an enthusiastic request for another. Jeff pushes his glass away and waves Nick off when he attempts to offer refill the shot.

"No thanks, kid. I'll stick with this," he says as he lifts the scotch.

"Booooo," Lew mocks. "This is my divorce party, so drink like it and have a shot!"

"Yeah," Alan shouts. "Don't be a buzz kill. If Pete's down for it, so are you."

Nick has Jeff's glass in hand and is already refilling it. Jeff groans and reaches up to retrieve it from the younger man. He lifts the drink high as he announces, "Here's to your freedom, Lew."

A few cheers of "here, here", and they all toss back the vile liquid.

Jeff puts his shot glass upside down on the table then washes the taste from his mouth with a sip of eighteen year old single malt scotch whiskey. Unfortunately, this results in Nick launching into a spiel about high quality scotches, ones which Jeff can no longer afford. As Nick continues, Jeff recognizes that the kid either makes more money than Jeff did at his age, or he's a poser quoting things he read in some scotch aficionado magazine. Jeff isn't sure which idea he finds more objectionable, but he stuffs down his serious case of annoyance and proceeds to debate which expensive scotch is better than which. At least he's an expert on the topic.

He's sipping scotch and talking on auto-pilot as his eyes scan the room. They eventually land on a gold pair of hot pants adorning a familiar looking, slender brunette. Jeff is fairly certain she's the same waitress who breezed past him as he arrived.

He watches her shoulders shake as she giggles, probably at some lame joke one of her not funny customers told. When she bends and stretches to hand a drink across the table, Jeff swallows and tries to keep his eyes from bugging out of his head like a cartoon.

He jumps when he feels a hand brush his cheek. He looks up to find a woman with a Betty Paige hair cut and a set of double D's cooing down at him, "How about a dance?"

Jeff pastes a grin on his face. "I'll pass, but that man right there is dying for one," he says as he points toward Lew and reaches into his pocket for a twenty. "Last time he saw a naked woman, the Olsen twins countdown hadn't hit zero yet."

Betty Paige plucks the bill from Jeff's grasp and reaches across the table to pull Lew to his feet. She grabs his hand and guides him toward the back, accompanied by the hoots of three lawyers.

As he reclaims his seat, Jeff looks across the room. He expects the brunette to be gone, but she's still chatting with the table of salivating young men. He takes a sip of scotch as he mindlessly answers some question Alan asks.

There's something familiar about this woman, and Jeff tries to remember how he knows her. Then he realizes that maybe the alcohol is already messing with his head, because he hasn't even seen her face yet. He wonders what she looks like as he studies her shoulders and the curve of her hip, waiting for her to turn. Seconds pass, maybe minutes, but she's still flirting with that stupid table of college idiots. He takes a gulp of scotch and glances at Alan, who's taking another Jager shot with Nick. Pete is grinning and tossing one dollar bills at the stage, and...

*Why the hell won't she turn around?*

"Winger? Jeff Winger?"

He shifts his eyes to where Alan is shouting his name. The other man waives the scotch bottle, offering a refill for Jeff's nearly-empty glass.

Glad to see Alan is not holding Jager, Jeff pushes his glass toward Alan and shouts, "Never refuse free scotch."

Jeff glances toward the brunette. She's turned but not enough to make out her face. However, Jeff can discern the curve of her chest, which, although significant, he's relieved to see, isn't comically disproportionate to her body. She's laughing again, and every laugh creates a jiggle that makes Jeff certain she earns lavish tips.

He returns his attention to his now-filled glass and notices Alan's eyes have followed Jeff's gaze across the room. Jeff groans as Alan's jaw drops.

"Oh, man!" Alan bellows as he elbows Nick, who is intensely focused on a half naked woman. Alan points the younger man in the brunette's direction.

"Nice find, Tango," Alan shouts as he fist bumps Nick and laughs his loud, obnoxious laugh.

Jeff sighs as he accepts that he's going to need a lot more alcohol to enjoy this evening. He sets his scotch on the table, and in an effort to save the poor waitress from the lecherous attention he has inadvertently drawn to her, Jeff picks up the bottle of Jager and shouts, "Who's ready for another?"

* * *

Jeff feels great. Not even that backstabbing jerk-off and his smug protege could ruin his mood. He's turned the tables. Enlisting Lew and Pete's help, he's kept the glasses of the obnoxious twins continuously drained and refilled. Now he's beating them at their own game. Before Jeff lost count, he knew Alan and Nick had each consumed twice as much as himself, and he'd drank quite a bit.

That was prior to Alan stumbling toward the bathroom. Judging from the length of time he's been gone, Jeff assumes the other man is currently praying to the porcelain goddess. Jeff considers that a success. One down, one to go.

While Nick is busy talking to the waitress, whose name Jeff has forgotten, Jeff elbows Pete - possibly too hard - then purposefully focuses on a naked woman crawling across the stage. Though he has a hard time getting his eyes to cooperate and focus on her, he tosses up a dollar as Pete nudges Lew, who dumps the Grey Goose bottle into Nick's vodka cranberry. Then Pete pours water into three shot glasses as Lew fills a fourth with tequila before sliding it over to Nick.

Jeff rolls his eyes as the younger man keeps chatting up the waitress. Some jerks have no consideration for people who are messing with them.

"Pick up women on yer own time, Flash," he shouts, and Jeff thinks that he can hear the slur in his own words.

Jeff lifts his glass when Nick turns toward him. After exchanging a few more words and a nod with the waitress, the other man lifts his own drink. All four glasses clink together, splashing liquid onto the table before everyone downs their drinks.

Jeff hopes Pete's smirk doesn't give away their ruse. He has a terrible poker face. If the guy didn't have such an incredible memory for legal precedent, Pete would probably be out of a job.

As Jeff struggles to think of another method to get Nick hammered, he spots something gold from the corner of his eye. The brunette. She's walking toward him. Where has she been? Wasn't she supposed to be their waitress? No, he remembers as he stares at her cleavage, their waitress was blond.

Wait. It dawns on him that the elusive brunette is finally facing his direction. He forces himself to tear his eyes away from her chest to survey her facial features. One side of his mouth curves upward. He fully expected her to be a fifty year old who just happened to have really, really great legs. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened to him. But no, she's stunning, and Jeff hopes it's not just the alcohol that makes him think so. It wouldn't be the first time for that either.

Her hair is in loose waves and slightly tousled. Britta could have been her hair dresser. As Jeff shakes away the thought of his blond friend, his alcohol clouded brain seizes on another female member of his study group. *She's Annie,* passes through his mind.

He barely manages to suppress a burst of laughter as he realizes how stupid that thought is. He must be completely out of it, he thinks. As if innocent little Annie would set foot in a strip club... wearing those heals and that much eye makeup. Also, Jeff is pretty sure she's not old enough to be a waitress here. Although he could have been wrong about that fact, there's no question Annie would never be caught in public showing this much cleavage or this much leg. He grins as he mentally adds, *Without a pair of tights anyway.*

Only in Jeff's dreams would Annie dress this way or walk with this seductive sway of her hips. Literally. Annie does very dirty things to him in his dreams, things he will never confess to fantasizing about even if he were forced to listen to a Taylor Swift album.

Still, something in this woman's smile, or maybe it's her eyes, reminds Jeff of Annie. He's just drunk enough that he's not ashamed that her resemblance to his friend makes him seriously want her.

He suddenly and uncomfortably notices that the brunette is standing next to Nick, gaping at Jeff with a look of fear and surprise. *Shit! Stop staring like a creep,* Jeff tells himself. He curves his mouth into a smile as he tries to figure out how she'd gotten so close so quickly. Her face relaxes, and she returns his smile with a hesitant one of her own.

"We want you to sit with us," Nick shouts. "Tha's why we asked for ya."

The brunette leans toward Nick and touches her finger to the tip of his nose as she replies with a thick southern accent, "Well, I sure am flattered by the attention." She pushes her shoulders forward, enhancing her bust line. "I'm real sorry though. That's against the rules." Her eyes shift quickly toward and away from Jeff. Her naughty southern belle smile slips away for an instant before a triumphant return.

"Aw, come on," Nick points at Jeff and then slurs out, "Do it for this guy. I think he's into you."

As if to help, Lew and Pete chime in with agreement.

She laughs nervously, and Jeff is mortified. If he were sixteen, this might be cute, but he's a grown man whose friends are talking to a girl for him. He's gone from creepy to creepy loser. For fear of making the situation worse, Jeff just drops his head into his hands and remains silent.

"Come on," Nick begs her. "He's been staring at your ass all night."

"Oh, my!" she exclaims. "I see someone who looks real thirsty. I better get over there. Maybe y'all can come back some time and ask ta be in my section so I can give ya the proper attention. Enjoy yer night now," she finishes as she rushes off.

As Jeff wallows in humiliation, he hears Alan's voice from above. It's way too up beat for the state Jeff had hoped he was in.

"Guess who just made out with a stripper!"

Jeff lifts his head, which feels as if a hang-over is already setting in, and decides he must have done something horribly wrong. Tonight the universe is pissed at him.

Alan's smug face grins. "What, I'm gone for a few minutes, and the party dies?"

"Ugh," Jeff mutters as he lets his head fall to the table.


	2. Chapter 2

Since she left their table, Jeff has watched the brunette waitress, waiting for a chance to get her alone. Granted, adding stalker to creepy loser might be a step in the wrong direction, but it's his best hope to mitigate the earlier damage.

He finally sees her walk toward the restroom, and Jeff tries to remain inconspicuous on his mission. He strolls past the on-stage naked women to wait in the hallway for her to come out. He watches the door from the corner of his eye as he leans against the wall and pretends to compose a text message. He pushes random buttons, because even if he wanted to type actual words, the keys are wobbling so much he can't make out the letters. He glances up every time the door opens. The third time, she emerges.

"Oh," she gasps when she spots him.

"Hey," he smiles. "Yer the waitress."

She tilts her head and gives him a "duh, idiot" glare. *Okay. Too nonchalant,* he thinks. He slips his phone into his pants pocket as he continues, "Sorry 'bout my friends. They're idiots." He staggers a bit before he steadies himself against the wall. "In my defense, they're not really my friends."

She has a lop-sided, bewildered smile. Jeff's not sure what to make of it, but he considers any kind of smile a marginal success.

"I'm Jeff," he says as he pushes off the wall and extends his hand.

She hesitates before responding in kind.

When she doesn't offer her own name, he asks, "And you are?"

She raises her eyebrows. "You... uh..." Her accent is no longer as thick as before. "Ya don't recognize me, do ya?"

He's hit with panic. Jeff tries to recall if he's had sex with her before. He doesn't think so. He's pretty sure he would remember the accent. Where is it from? Georgia? Texas? He doesn't know any women from either. Wait. There was that divorcee he represented a few years ago. She sounded similar, but she was at least five years older than Jeff. Unless she's found the fountain of youth or a really good plastic surgeon, this isn't her. Jeff can't think of any other women from Texas he's slept with, so he forces a smile, preparing for the inevitable wave of anger that will burst forth once he admits he doesn't remember her.

Strangely though, the longer he takes to answer, the wider her smile grows.

When he finally shakes his head, she bites her lip to stifle her grin. Her blue eyes dance with amusement. "Wow," she finally exclaims.

"Yer not upset?" he slurs.

She shakes her head. "No, that's great." Her hand rests on her chest as she exhales a deep breath. "You had me worried."

His forehead wrinkles. "Hey, wha' happened to yer accent?"

Her back straightens, and with one hand on her hip, she parts her lips and bats her eyelashes. "Whateva do you mean?"

The accent is back in full force, and Jeff's not sure he didn't imagine it's absence.

"So..." Her coy smile once again graces her lips, and her smokey eyes gaze up at him. "If ya didn't recognize me, why are ya waitin' outside the bathroom?"

"Uh...," Jeff stammers. He had hoped his charm would distract her from that little fact. He considers lying, but in this state of mind, he can't think of a non-pathetic or non-transparent excuse. There's also something in her smile that makes him actually willing to tell her.

He does his best to keep the slur out of his voice as he admits, "I really wanna have sex with you."

Her eyes go wide and her jaw drops. She leans forward and asks in a resonant whisper, "Are you serious?"

This time, Jeff is pretty sure his alcohol fogged brain didn't imagine the lack of accent.

* * *

Jeff is once again waiting in the hallway near the bathrooms. Waiting for... her. He realizes she never told him her name. She left pretty quickly after he made his confession and confirmed he was not joking. She promised to think about his proposition and meet him twenty minutes later, during her break. So after another round of drinks, here is where Jeff has returned, hoping she isn't about to blow him off.

He looks at his phone. Luckily the numbers are big enough that he can make out the time even though the display is doing the wave. She's five minutes late. He decides to give her five more.

Jeff leans his head against the wall and stares at the ceiling. His eyes drift closed, but he's pulled back to awareness when he feel someone grasp his hand. He looks down to see a flash of gold and a hand tugging him down the hallway, past a beaded curtain and into another hallway.

She stops in front of a door with a blurry red sign. She opens it slowly and peeks her head inside. When she's satisfied, she pulls him through behind her and locks the door. He sees a kitchenette and a sofa. This must be some kind of employee lounge, and he's a bit impressed that she didn't just bring him to the bathroom.

She rushes across the room to lock a second door on the opposite side. When she turns to face him, she's wearing an uncertain smile. "So..." With her hands behind her back, she takes a small step toward him as she asks, "You really don't recognize me?"

This time he's certain. "Ya lost yer accent."

She looks sheepishly at the ground and shrugs her shoulders. "It comes and goes."

She reminds him again of Annie, of all the things he's dreamt of doing to her. He takes a step closer but resists the urge to rush forward and ravish her against the door. Although this woman's resemblance to his virtuous, young friend is having a serious effect below his waist, it's also bringing up the all too familiar pangs of guilt and anxiety.

She's still gazing at him with those darkly lined eyes and a slight smile. He looks her over from wavy, tousled hair to gold, stiletto-clad toe. Nothing pure and innocent about those shoes, he reasons with satisfaction.

She's not Annie. She's some random woman just like the many others he's slept with, he assures himself. He should have no qualms about the things he wants to do to her. Granted, she could be Annie's older sister, but...

Jeff's mind freezes on the word "sister", and he curses his own brain for putting the thought into his head. Part of him doesn't care, but another part insists he ask. After all, it would be really awkward if she showed up to Greendale's next family day.

One corner of his mouth turns upward as he forces himself to ask the question. "Do you have a sister?"

She frowns, and her eyes narrow. "What? No!"

He lets out a breath. Then, seeing her expression, he explains, "I didn't mean that in the sleazy way it came out."

She tilts her head as if questioning him, but her expression has softened.

He smiles and takes another step, closing the distance between them. "Just wanted to make sure it was okay to do this," he replies.

He leans to kiss her but hesitates. He studies her face, assuring himself again that he's not violating his own loose moral standards by having sex with a woman who resembles a certain sweet, young temptress.

"You're not doing anything," she whispers as if it's their secret.

She's gazing up at him, and he must be really drunk, because despite his best efforts, she still reminds him of his friend. Her blue eyes impel him to recall Annie's, begging him to kiss her. He complies with a lingering pang of guilt.

The guilt fades into the taste of vanilla lip gloss and mint. He pulls his lips from hers and trails down her neck. She tilts her head back, and he smiles against her skin when she lets out a soft moan. His lips slide lower, skimming the tops of her breasts. His underwear seems too constricting, and he decides they both need to extricate themselves from their garments. As he slides his hand under the hem of her cut-off tank top, she steps back, and her hands push lightly against his shoulders.

"Jeff, wait."

He stands up straight and eyes her through confused blinks.

"This isn't right. You're really drunk."

He nods. "I am. But yer not. Tha's all that matters ta me."

Her shoulders sag. "I thought I could do this, but it wouldn't be right. You're so drunk you don't even know it's me." She shakes her head. "I can't take advantage of you like this."

Maybe it's messed up, but her pouty Annie face gets to him. It's dragging forth all his guilty, buried fantasies of the young woman doing things to him that are probably illegal in several Midwestern states.

His blue eyes smolder as he steps into her. He places his hand on her hip and leans toward her as he runs his fingers up her bare skin. He makes his best effort to enunciate his words as he whispers into her ear, "Please. Take advantage of me."

He hears her inhale sharply and feels her chest rise. He straightens to meet her eyes. They're full of hunger, but she takes another breath and swallows back her cravings.

Her words are breathy and high pitched as she tells him, "This isn't how I imagined..."

Jeff doesn't let her finish. He splays his fingers through her hair and pulls her lips to his. She hesitates for an instant but then returns his kiss. In seconds, she's responding with a fervor that makes it obvious she's abandoned her objections.

His hands are in her hair, and her fingers are untucking his shirt, sliding along his bare flesh. He moves his hands down her back as she fumbles with his shirt buttons. After an agonizingly long time, she's only half way finished, so he grabs his own hem and pulls the shirt over his head.

His lips return to her neck and collar bone, nibbling her flesh as he slides his hands under her ass. He lifts her a few inches before he loses his balance and lets her feet drop back to the floor.

Choosing another tactic, he returns his lips to hers briefly before lifting his head to scout the room. As she kisses his chest, he considers moving to the couch, but even inebriated, that seems potentially dirty in the wrong kind of way. He spots a little round dining table, but it doesn't look sturdy enough to hold either of them. Given the options, his first choice would have been against the wall, but with that out, the only one left is an armless dining chair.

He grabs her hand and pulls her to their new destination. He slides the chair out from the table and spins it toward himself. When his eyes return to her, she looks uncertain.

He lets go of the chair and sweeps her hair away from her face. He gazes down at her, hoping the hesitation will fade. When it doesn't, he brushes his lips across hers. Ignoring the part of himself that's screaming, "Shut up and just keep kissing her," he pulls away to stammer, "If ya want, we can do this later."

She casts a sheepish glance toward the floor, and Jeff curses himself for giving her such an easy out. Then her eyes dance back to his. A tiny smile flickers across her face. "Can we go slow?"

He responds with a shrug and a single nod. "That's not usually my style, but we can give it a try."

Her tongue darts over her lips before her sultry smile returns, and she places a hand on his chest, pushing him into the chair. She steps back and pulls her tank top over her head. His pants feel entirely too small when he sees her bra-less, bare flesh underneath.

"If this is how to take it slow, it's off to a great start."

She giggles and a blush creeps up her naked skin. Jeff struggles not to see her as Annie as she replies, "I guess you made me a little over eager."

She starts to take off her gold hot pants, but Jeff stops her. "Keep those on."

She smiles an Annie-like "I've got a crush" smile and moves toward him. He watches her breasts move as her gold heals click on the tile. He catches her hips as she begins to slide onto his lap, and he licks a half circle around her navel. He trails kisses along the top of her shorts. As he progresses, he feels something tucked into her waist band. He pulls out a single condom and looks up at her.

She shrugs. "I just bought it from the bathroom."

He tosses it to the floor. "Mine are better."

He resumes his task, lowering her in increments that allow him to take in her body slowly, just as she requested.

Somewhere along the way, Jeff forgets the reason he's moving at a tortuously slow pace and begins to simply enjoy giving and taking the individual sensations. He's surprised when she asks him what he wants her to do. He doesn't remember the last time a woman seemed genuinely interested in pleasing him. He even finds it endearing when she gives him timid smiles as if each experience is new to her. Jeff forgets to be ashamed when those smiles remind him of Annie or when he imagines Annie's eyes looking back at him. If he uses the younger woman's name as he climaxes, she doesn't seem to notice.

Jeff sits breathing heavily, her naked skin pressed against his own. His head rests against the back of the chair, and her head rests on his shoulder.

Maybe it's because Jeff has recently gone without getting laid for longer than any other time in his life since puberty, but he honestly thinks he just had the best sex of his life. Definitely in the top ten. Well... Jeff has had a lot of sex. There may be some really great times he's forgotten about. To be safe, top twenty at least.

He exhales a deep breath before he asks, "Be honest. Did I blow your mind or what?"

He feels her smile and nod against his shoulder. They remain in silence for a few minutes before he remembers the question he never asked.

He runs his hand up and down her back as he says, "Is it awkward to ask your name at this point?"

Her head remains on his shoulder. She sounds confused as she responds. "What?"

"You never told me yer name," he slurs. "I meant to ask again before we, ya know, but I got sidetracked."

She's quiet for a few seconds, then she responds flatly, "You should probably figure it out yourself."

Jeff's hands stop moving and come to rest on her hips. "Uh... are you mad or somethin'?"

She's silent for an eerily long time. Then he feels her head shake. "No. I just..." She releases a loud sigh and sits up to face him. "This is my fault. I knew this was a bad idea, but I wanted to prove to myself - and you - that I could be just as casual about sex as you are." She shrugs, and her gaze drifts downward. "I guess I was fooling myself. I was still hoping this would be special, that it would change things. But now I'm just another one of your one night stands." Her eyelids flutter, and her eyes start to get watery. "Things have changed, haven't they? But not the way I wanted." Her eyelids slide closed as her shoulders shake and she sniffs. "I'm not special at all."

Jeff's brain switches into overdrive. He doesn't quite grasp what's happening, but she looks like she's a few syllables from full on bursting into tears, and he's willing to do or say anything to prevent her from crying.

"Tha's crazy. Of course you're special." As the words leave his lips, he realizes he's not just placating her. There's a nearly crying woman in his lap, and for some inexplicable reason, he's not formulating a hasty retreat. He actually wants to see her smile, to make her happy. A wave of terror washes over Jeff as he realizes he wants her to stay here... with him.

He swallows hard. "You are special," he says, maybe to her but more likely to himself. "I know that, because you're having some bizarre female emotional crisis that I'm too male and too drunk to understand, but I'm not already on the other side of that door."

She looks up. Her eyes are still watery but her lips are turned upward. "Really?"

"You're still lookin' at me, aren't ya?"

She beams at him.

He tucks her hair behind her ear as he confesses, "I've never said this to anyone before. It's terrifying and exhilarating. I'm getting butterflies just thinking about it, so I'm just gonna get it over with." He takes a deep breath before he rushes through the words, "I wanna see you again when I'm sober."

Her smile dims, and she tilts her head. "Is that your way of asking me on a date?

Jeff shrugs. "Uh. Yeah."

Her smile lingers. Jeff studies her face as he waits for her response. He feels like his lungs deflate when her smile disappears.

"That's nice of you, but you don't really mean it," she answers.

His eyes dart around the room as if searching for a reason for her to make that assumption. He doesn't find one. "Do too," he utters in panicked confusion.

She shakes her head. "Even if you do, you're aren't asking me. You're asking," she gestures toward herself, "this girl."

His forehead wrinkles. "Huh? You aren't you?"

"Never mind." She sighs then her lips curve upward again. "But thank you anyway," she says as she places a gentle kiss on his lips. "You did make me feel better."

She rests her head on his shoulder again, and Jeff struggles to make sense of the situation. He'd just poured his heart out to a woman - or as close as he's ever gotten to doing so - but she'd smiled and rejected him. He wonders if this would make any more sense if he were sober.

"Just to make sure I'm not too drunk to understand, yer not going on a date with me, and yer not telling me yer name?"

She sounds almost content as she replies, "If you still want to go on a date when you remember my name, then I'll go."

"Fair enough, I guess. What's your number?" When she remains silent, he asks, "You're not gonna give me your number?"

He feels her nod.

He glares at the top of her head. "How am I s'posed call you when I remember your name?"

She laughs. "With your phone, silly."

"Of course. Why didn't I think of that?"

Jeff strains to recall who this woman is, but the only name he can connect with her is Annie. Since he's certain the resemblance is a figment of his drunken imagination, he remains clueless.

"Can you at least give me a hint to figure out who you are?"

She doesn't hesitate before answering, "No."

He wonders if she's just teasing him now. "What! Why not?"

"That would make it too easy."

"Then I'll come back here tomorrow when I'm sober."

He feels her stiffen. She's silent a moment before she answers, "You won't find me. I'm quitting. I'll just have to find another way to pay for my crumby apartment."

Defeated, Jeff frowns. "Well, you're from Texas right?"

She responds like a sexy southern vixen. "That's what my license says."

"Then that's where I'll start."

A burst of laughter escapes her lips, and she sits up to face him. "In Texas?"

"Yep."

"You're going to search through Texas?"

"Yep."

"You really are drunk."

He smiles and nods. "I am."

She narrows her eyes at him. "You're not going to search Texas?"

He shakes his head and admits, "No, I'm not."

She lays her head back on his shoulder, and he resumes rubbing his hands up and down her back as he adds, "But don't be surprised if you see me searching door to door through the greater Greendale metropolitan area."

She laughs and gives him a kiss before she cranes her neck to look at the clock. "I hope they don't come looking for me. I should have been back to work ten minutes ago."

Jeff feels a pang of worry. "Does that mean you're leaving?"

"No." She kisses him deeply before she pulls back to say, "I want to enjoy this a little longer before things go back to normal. Let's stay until they break the door down." She returns to kissing him before she amends, "Or at least until somebody knocks."

"Fine with me," he says as he begins to nuzzle her neck. "But that's gonna get you fired."

She tilts her head back and moves her hips against him. "I'm quitting anyway, remember?"

"Aw." He jokes as his hand brushes her breast , "Are you quitting your job at a strip club just for me?"

She smiles and moans before she answers, "No, because of you."

"Then I'd better make this worth it," he whispers into her ear.

* * *

Jeff strolls across the Greendale campus at the study group's regular meeting time. He's relieved to see the stoners reading poetry today instead of playing hacky sack. He spots Britta on the opposite side of the poetry circle, walking toward him.

"How was Saturday?" she asks when they meet.

Jeff raises an eyebrow and Britta answers, "Abed told me about the strip club."

"Damn it. He was supposed to keep that a secret."

"From Shirley."

Jeff curses himself for being so specific and decides not to clarify that the request had been to keep the information not just from Shirley but from Annie as well. Not that there's any reason he shouldn't mention that to Britta. It just doesn't seem important.

"So how was it?" Britta asks again as they pull open the library doors.

Jeff shrugs, and one side of his mouth curves upward. "Actually, not half bad."

"You got laid." There was no hint of a question in Britta's voice.

Jeff stops and turns to face her. "Why would you assume that?"

"You were with Alan and a bunch of other douche bags. What else would make that tolerable much less 'not half bad'?"

She has a point, but Jeff refuses to acknowledge it. "Ugh. Whatever," he responds and strides quickly toward the study room, doing his best to escape the conversation.

"What'd she look like?" Britta continues to question from behind.

Jeff halts and looks at the ceiling. "We're not talking about it," he says louder than he intended.

"About what?" Troy's voice calls.

*Shit!* Jeff inwardly curses as he realizes how close to the study room he's standing.  
He gives Britta a dirty look before turning to cross the remaining steps to where he hopes to find Troy alone.

No luck. Annie and Pierce are also inside, in their usual places. Jeff isn't sure which one's reaction he would rather deal with less.

"Stop talking about what?" Troy asks again.

"Nothing," Jeff answers as he takes his seat.

"How can you stop talking about nothing? If you stop, aren't you talking about something?"

Jeff lets his face fall into his palms.

"Jeff had sex with a stripper," Britta announces with a smile.

He lifts his head and glares at her.

"Nice!" Troy stands and reaches his hand across the table for a high five, but he sits down with a pout when Jeff doesn't reciprocate.

Pierce reacts as expected. "Way to go, Jeff! How were her manzanas?"

As Jeff groans at the older man's reaction, he realizes Annie hasn't gasped or called him gross. He dares a look in her direction to find her staring at her notebook. She seems to be biting her lip as a blush creeps up her cheeks.

"Come on," Pierce continues. "Are we talking... this big?" he asks as he holds his hands a foot in front of him. "Or... this big?" He moves his hands back til they're nearly touching his chest. When Jeff doesn't answer, Pierce gives up that tack and tries another. "I bet she could work a pole if you know what I mean."

Jeff snaps, "For your information, she was not a stripper. She was a waitress. She was from somewhere in Texas, and she had class."

"Oooh. Sounds special," Britta taunts.

Jeff counters, "You know what, she was."

Britta smirks. "Past tense. That's really special."

"She is," he corrects.

"Yeah? What's her name?"

Jeff opens his mouth but knows he can't answer. He's relieved when Annie interjects, "Guys, this is really none of your... our business. Jeff can sleep with whoever he wants. Can we please stop the interrogation now?"

By the time Annie finishes her question, Jeff's relief has evaporated. Why is she defending him? Shouldn't she be jealous? Shouldn't she at least be veiling her jealousy in an objection based on some moral principal?

Even though he wants her to move on for the good of them both, he still can't help feeling bothered at her lackadaisical reaction. He knows he should feel relieved, but for some reason, he just feels... like he's not special anymore.

He watches Annie, waiting for her to look at him. Pathetic and selfish as it may be, he wants to see her "school girl crush" smile. She flips through her notebook, completely oblivious to Jeff.

When she does look up, it's in the opposite direction.

"You didn't even finish the date?" Annie asks.

"Troy, you spent a whole month trying to get her to go out with you," Shirley says. "Why would you throw it all away?"

Jeff blinks. When the hell had Shirley shown up? He looks across the table. Or Abed for that matter?

"Yeah," Troy responds. "But she'd never heard of Animaniacs, and I just couldn't see a future there."

Jeff glances around the room. Shirley is irritated. Pierce is annoyed. Troy looks pleased with himself. Abed has an almost-smile, and Britta is grinning like she's proud of Troy or something.

When Jeff's eyes land on Annie, she's finally looking back at him. She meets his gaze, and he feels his pulse quicken. Without his consent, one corner of his mouth starts to move upward.

He watches a flush creep up her cheeks. Her lips start to curve, and Jeff can't help when his own mirror hers.

His jaw tightens when he sees that "we've got a secret" look in her eyes. She clamps her hand over her mouth, and her eyes dart to her notebook.

Jeff blinks himself out of his Annie-induced trance and stares at the table. The smile he wanted to see is definitely back, but he's terrified by her eyes. His hands tighten around his anthropology book as he starts to worry. Why would she look at him that way now? He knows he didn't make out with her again. The only way he wouldn't remember that is if he were drunk. He hadn't been drunk around her, so...

*No. That's not possible.* Though the evening remains foggy, Jeff remembers the brunette waitress reminded him of Annie. What if the resemblance wasn't just a product of his imagination? What if it was more than resemblance? What if the woman he'd had sex with actually was Annie?

As he hears the murmur of the study group in the background, the idea grows less and less absurd, filling Jeff with silent panic. His mind screams at him, *Did I have drunk sex with Annie?* A thousand thoughts rush through his head. *What have I done? What is the group going to do to me? What's Annie going to do to me? What is this going to do to her? How could I have had sex with Annie?* He stops on, *Could I do it again?* As most of his brain battles with the question of how to accomplish that feat without destroying the girl and bringing the wrath of hell down on himself, another portion stops to ask how he could find out for certain if the woman was even Annie.

What was he going to do, walk up to her, give her a buddy punch to the shoulder, and casually ask, "Hey there, did I have sex with you Saturday at a strip club?" Most awkward conversation ever.

"Jeff?"

"Yeah," he answers and looks around to see the study group on their way out the door. "Are we done already?"

Annie is still packing her books into her backpack. She looks at him with confusion. "We're going to the assembly."

"Huh?"

"The one the dean just announced."

"I know that," he lies. "I meant are we done or are we coming back to finish studying afterward."

She smiles. "I think we're done. Troy and Britta have a class in a fourty minutes."

As Jeff watches Annie zip her backpack shut, he shifts in his seat to lean close to her. "Annie, is there anything you did this weekend that you might want to talk to me about?"

Annie tilts her head and narrows her eyes, "Like what?"

Jeff searches her face for any indication of that look in her eyes or a sign that she's hiding something from him. "Nothing specific. Just asking in general. You know, 'how is life', 'anything you need to talk about' sort of thing." His eyes squint as he waits for a reaction. "We talked about my weekend and Troy's, but nobody asked about yours."

She shrugs. "Nothing I did can top strip club sex." She smiles and hikes her backpack onto her shoulders. "Even if you're not going to date her, I'm glad you found someone special."

Jeff nods as he watches Annie walk out the door. As she retreats, he feels a pang of sadness as he realizes he wants her to stay here... with him. He almost calls her name, but he knows life never works out the way he wants.


End file.
